Butterfly Confessions
by Hisa-Ai
Summary: Merlin having magic was the biggest thing he ever had to hide from Arthur, right? After it finally came out, surely there wasn't anything left for Merlin to hide from him? So why is he leaving a feast that Arthur is throwing to celebrate the anniversary of him being made Court Sorcerer early? And why have there been so many butterflies around Camelot this past year?


**So who here is familiar with the Butterfly Project? For those of you _not_ familiar, it is something that is supposed to help self-harmers—specifically cutters—who _want_ to stop. The gist of it is you draw a butterfly on your skin where you normally self-harm or wherever you want to, and name it after a loved one or just someone who wants you to get better; if you cut again before the butterfly wears off without you washing it off, the butterfly is dead, if you don't cut before the butterfly wears off, then it lives. It's something that's helped a lot of people, according to their tumblr; I don't have much experience with the Butterfly Project personally, but it helps people who want/need it, so that's all that really matters. **

**Now I mention all this because this is sort of based off the idea, except with magic and _actual_ butterflies.**

**So I feel like a trigger warning is sort of required, because the act of self-harming doesn't actually go on in this fic, but some scars are shown, issues are discussed, so, I mean, if that sort of thing is _really_ triggering for you, then maybe don't read this one.**

**Disclaimer: **I don't own Merlin or anything to do with the Butterfly Project.

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_Butterfly Confessions_

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*.*.*.*.*

Finding out that Merlin had magic wasn't actually that big of a surprise, not when Arthur thought about it for a minute. There were too many coincidences, too many close calls, too many things that were otherwise unexplainable that suddenly _made sense_ once he found out and put the pieces together.

Really, finding out that Merlin had magic was probably the least shocking thing ever, to be perfectly honest. Or at least, it was once he and Merlin sat down for a proper talk about everything and he had time to mull it over—once he got over his anger, because, really, what the hell was Merlin thinking not telling Arthur? While his father was still king, he understood, but why, once Arthur was crowned king, did Merlin not come to him with it? Needless to say, Arthur had spent quite a while stewing in his own anger and self-loathing over it, wondering to himself if he was so unapproachable that _Merlin_ could not find it in himself to come to Arthur with something like this. Wasn't Arthur supposed to be his best friend?

Eventually, however, it all sank in, and he began to understand Merlin's motives, his reasoning for keeping it to himself all those years, and he began to move past it all, accept his friend for all that he was, all that he could do, had done. And, after a while, it all just became a normal part of life. Merlin would use his magic during round table meetings, while they were talking or out on patrol or during a battle and nobody would bat an eye or react anymore—it was just… normal life, after a while. Nothing for anyone to worry about anymore.

And honestly, there were other things plaguing Arthur now, things bigger than Merlin and magic. Like, for instance, the multitude of butterflies they now had around the castle and in Camelot itself. It was an odd sort of thing to notice, Arthur would admit, but… Honestly, it was becoming a bit of a problem.

Before, there had been the odd butterfly or two, and it was a wondrous sight for any children and the odd knight or two who pretended not to notice as they fluttered by, but ever since the secret of Merlin's magic had come out… There had just… been _so many_ of them. In the throne room, in Arthur's chambers, in the halls, in the stables, in the lower town, out in the forest…

Most of them were blue. All different hues and shades of _blue. _There was the odd red one—vibrant and deeper than any Arthur had ever seen before—but, for the most part, they were all _blue._ Knowing what Arthur did now about magic and things of the such… well, he couldn't help but wonder if that was it, if that had something to do with it, but the only sorcerer—warlock—Arthur knew of around Camelot was Merlin and, well, why would _Merlin_ create so many _butterflies?_

It wasn't as though the butterflies were terrible things; they entertained and brought wonder to the people, they were just… a curious sight, that was all. Something of a mystery that plagued Arthur when he was left with a bit too much time on his hands. He almost asked Merlin about them a time or two, but something always distracted him before he had the chance to do it, and once the moment passed, he never thought of it again until much too long later.

They were just butterflies, anyway, and a multitude of them was not a bad thing at all; he was probably just fixating because of stress or something of the sort, he was sure Gaius or Merlin would tel him. It was just something that was better left to wonder at whenever he had a moment with his thoughts.

*.*.*.*.*

Merlin had ducked out of the feast that they had been throwing in _his_ honor much too early for Arthur's liking—they were doing this _for_ _him_, to celebrate the anniversary of _him_ becoming Arthur's Court Sorcerer, why did he think he was allowed to leave something like that _early?_—so, naturally, Arthur had ducked out as well, informing his nearest knights that he was going to go fetch said stupid sorcerer, because he most definitely _did not_ get to leave early, and they should all be on their best behavior until they returned.

At first, he didn't know where Merlin might have been, so he had merely been wandering around the halls they often walked together on their way to do this or that, wondering if he might have had a good enough reason to leave—when he spotted him, the back of his head, that scarf he donned stubbornly even when he was made to wear his official court sorcerer attire—which, okay, was pretty ugly even by Arthur's standards—walking down the end of the hall Arthur had just turned onto.

He thought about calling out to him, about trying to grab his attention so they could walk back to the feast together, but then he thought better about it, a sort of tugging in his chest telling him to be quiet and just… _follow him,_ see where he was going, what he might be doing. Quieting his step, slowing his pace, Arthur kept behind him, ducking out of sight when he needed to, being sure to stay hidden when Merlin chanced a look behind himself before continuing on. Arthur didn't know where he was going or what he was doing, but he had the sinking suspicion that perhaps he wasn't _supposed_ to know.

Which, of course, meant that he _needed to know._

At last, Merlin turned down a hall Arthur was rather unfamiliar with and ducked through a doorway that Arthur wouldn't have noticed if he hadn't just watched Merlin go through it. His curiosity even more piqued, he followed him out the door, which led them to just outside the castle, a stretch of grass Arthur hadn't been to in years revealing itself to him in the pale glow of the moonlight.

He kept his distance, watching Merlin as he walked, slowly, carefully, confidently, across the grass that was stretched across the edge of castle itself, until he lowered himself to sit on a part of the lower edge of the wall—something that was only so low because it had, once, been part of a walkway that led to a training ground; things had changed over the years, however, and this part hadn't been used for training since Arthur was very young, and it was overgrown with wild flowers and weeds and grass that hadn't been trampled by knights or even the stray servant in years now. As far as Arthur knew, Merlin, apparently, was the only one coming out here anymore, and he wasn't even sure _why _he was out there in the first place or how long he'd been coming out there.

Arthur watched Merlin for a few moments longer, clinging to the shadows himself while Merlin sat, seeming to be in deep thought about something or another. Once again, Arthur was plagued by the thought that perhaps he should leave Merlin to his privacy, and just make up some excuse to tell the others so Merlin could miss the rest of the feast without anyone wondering at his absence, but… he was rooted from the spot; he couldn't seem to move away or towards his friend.

The seconds passed into minutes, and Arthur almost decided he should just _leave, _when Merlin sighed, let out a shaky sort of breath that Arthur recognized, with a pain in his chest, as the sort of breath he usually let out whenever he was on the verge of or just fighting back tears, and he knew he wasn't going anywhere now.

Merlin drew his hands close to his mouth then, cupped them, and muttered something Arthur could not quite make out; his eyes flashed gold a second later and Arthur knew it was a spell of some sort, but what kind of spell would Merlin come all the way out here to do on a night such as _this_, when he knew it meant the world to Arthur that he attend the feast he was throwing for him?

Arthur had his answer a moment later when Merlin opened his hands, revealing one of those delicate, unnatural, gorgeous butterflies that he had been seeing so much of in the past year. It rested gracefully in his hands for a moment, walking along the length of a few of his fingers before he released it, biting his lip as he kept his eyes trained on it, distracted and distant and _broken_ as he watched it go.

Arthur was standing next to him a moment later before he had even made up his mind to go to him, his legs having carried him across the grass to where Merlin was the second he recognized that Merlin might _need _someone. He took the seat next to him quietly, startling Merlin from whatever had been plaguing him. His eyes were wide with something like fear and heartache when they registered Arthur's presence, and he wanted to make a smart remark—something about the butterflies, he just wasn't entirely sure what; he never was sure _what_ he would say to Merlin in such situations until he actually opened his mouth—but… He bit his tongue instead, gazed into Merlin's eyes for a moment, his face soft and waiting and understanding.

When Merlin wouldn't take the hint, Arthur slid over towards him slightly. "Is everything okay?" He asked, unsure what else he _could _ask or say at the moment.

Merlin bit his lip for a long second before answering. "Yes."

"So why…"

"Things are so different now, Arthur." Merlin interrupted, his voice breathy and distant. He leaned into Arthur slightly, eyes sliding over to where the butterfly had disappeared to just a moment ago.

"What... do you mean, exactly?" Arthur asked slowly. Things were different, yes, but they were _supposed_ to be, so what—

"I mean... I don't have to hide anything from you anymore, right?" He asked, turning back to look at Arthur with something like fear in his eyes.

"You don't have to hide_ anything_ from me, Merlin." Arthur assured him quickly, sensing that whatever was going on with him was _serious_ and he just... he needed to _talk; _Arthur needed to _just_ _listen_ to whatever he had to say.

Merlin nodded slowly before continuing. "All these years, Arthur, my magic... it's not the only secret I've been keeping from you, you know." He paused to give Arthur a moment to take that in. "There are... other things I haven't told you—things I _want_ to tell you, but, I've never known how to before."

"So tell me now. Whatever you need to say, say it, and I'll... listen. After everything else that's happened, Merlin, I think... I think I owe you that much."

Merlin let out another of those shaky breathes that made Arthur's heart clench in his chest before he moved away from Arthur, putting the slightest bit of distance that felt much wider to Arthur than it actually was, and then began to slowly roll back his sleeves, deliberately avoiding Arthur's wondering gaze as he did so. In the still night around them, Arthur couldn't make much out when Merlin held his arms out towards Arthur for inspection before he illuminated the small space between them with a simple enough spell that Arthur had heard dozens of times by now, and then—

"What happened?" Arthur murmured when he took in the sight before him, the sight of Merlin's arms littered with criss-crossing scars, some long, some thin, some deeper than the others, some white and puckered against his already pale skin, some pink and smooth. His eyebrows drew together as he took it all in, turning it over in his head, these didn't look like battle wounds, they were too... clean, too straight, their locations _too_ precise...

Absent-mindedly, he stroked one of the deeper ones, one that looked like it had given him quite a bit of trouble, before looking back up to Merlin. "Did you..." He licked his lips, the question ridiculous even as it sat on the tip of his tongue. There really was no way, but... "Did you... do this to yourself?"

He wasn't expecting Merlin to confirm his suspicions, he was expecting a blithe little chuckle and then a description of some spell gone wrong or some sorcerer or sorceress who'd been working under Morgana's orders doing it to him to try to get information out of him or—or _something. _He wasn't expecting confirmation that his best friend had deliberately—

"Yes." Merlin admitted, closing his eyes as Arthur's face fell, his heart sounding stubbornly, clenching deep in his chest and chilling his blood.

"Why—"

"All these years, Arthur," Merlin sighed, eyes opening slowly as he took his arm back carefully, tracing over a few of his scars with his long fingers as he spoke. "All these years—do you have any idea... what it was like, to... hide this huge secret on the penalty of death, on the penalty of having to leave your side if anyone ever found out? What it was like to hear what you had to say on the subject of magic and sorcerers all those years when you still believed we were only evil? Do you have any idea what it was like to go to sleep and dream of the pyre, of seeing hatred in your eyes as you condemned me to death? Do you have any idea what it's like to hide this huge part of who you are from the person who means the most to you?" He asked.

Arthur opened his mouth, but found he had no words—because he _didn't_ know, did he? Didn't know what the last decade of Merlin's life had truly been like, what it _must_ have been like. He didn't understand how hard it must have been for him, how hard it probably _still was_ for him. He didn't understand at all. And it hurt him, truly, because he _was_ supposed to be Merlin's best friend and he couldn't understand or even _pretend_ to understand any of this. He could make things safer for Merlin in Camelot, in the rest of his kingdom, could make him feel accepted and wanted for who he truly was _now,_ but he couldn't undo all those years spent fearing for his life, hiding who he was. Arthur couldn't undo all the pain he had caused in those years. No matter how badly he wanted to.

"Do you..." Merlin began again, running his tongue over his bottom lip nervously before continuing quickly. "Have any idea what it's like to be so in love with your best friend and so unable to tell him? On top of everything else, do you know what it's like to love someone who will never love you back? To _know_ that he will never love you back, but to be unable to love anyone else because he's _it,_ he's the one person you know you will never get over, the one person you'll love for the rest of your life and beyond? Do you know what it's like to be so hopelessly in love with someone who's not in love with you?"

Arthur nodded slowly as Merlin hiccuped with a sob that was stuck in his throat, now that part... that part he could understand. That part he knew all too well.

"Are you... talking about _me,_ Merlin?" He asked, whispering with the hope he scarcely allowed himself to feel in that moment.

There were so many other pressing things at hand—Merlin had intentionally harmed himself over the years, he was making so many butterflies, and Arthur was sure the two things were connected somehow—but... if Merlin loved him like he loved Merlin... That was one thing he could fix, at least. He couldn't take back the pain he might have caused him over the years, but he could fix this, this one thing that would make things even just a little bit better for both of them.

"Yes." Merlin nodded reluctantly, swallowing, something hesitant still lingering in his eyes. "And I understand if you don't want me—"

_"Mer_lin_. Don't._ Don't do that. Just... _d__on't._ Just listen to me." Arthur interrupted, his turn to be sincere against the fear he felt as he said what had been plaguing him for all the years he had known Merlin. "I have never wanted anything more than I've wanted you. I know _exactly_ what it's like to be so in love with your best friend but so unable to tell him—I know _exactly_ what that's like, Merlin. But..." He swallowed, watching the hope in Merlin's eyes slowly drain into something else, something like fear, rejection, then acceptance. "I need to know: why... would you do this to yourself? Why would you—" He gestured to Merlin's bare arms, letting his hand briefly ghost over a scar or two. He hated the idea of Merlin hurting himself, hated the thought of him in pain because of _anyone_, let alone himself.

He supposed there was a different sort of fear associated with that knowledge, because he could try to protect Merlin from bandits and knights belonging to other kingdoms that would see Camelot fall, but he could not protect him from himself. And that made Arthur feel too helpless, too weak, too undeserving of the love Merlin admitted to having for him. He should have been able to protect the people he cared about from anything and everything. Not being able to protect Merlin of all people... It was just—

"At first," Merlin sighed, moving closer to Arthur once again and leaning into him as he looked off, everything about him suddenly heavy and depressing to even look at. Arthur couldn't look away. "It... was because it was all _too much_. This destiny we're supposed to have together, the things we're supposed to do, having to hide my magic, worry about you, falling in love with you, knowing everything that I did, that I do... It was all_ so much_, Arthur, and... at first, it was just a way to have control over something—over _some_ of the pain. And then... I don't know, over the years, it was less about control, more about just _needing_ to do it. I don't know how else to explain it, but it's... _addicting._ I know it sounds mad, but, at the end of a long day of you yelling at me, another sorcerer being put to death, the Great Dragon or Gaius giving me another lecture on destiny—pulling out a knife or dagger and... It just made everything _better_ somehow.

"I never wanted to stop, even though I knew it was... I _knew_ I should have _wanted_ to stop, but I didn't, not really, not until..." He gestured then, to the scar Arthur had immediately locked in on, the nastiest looking one by far, deep and thick and puckered and still pink, as though it had required quite a few stitches, weeks of herbs and persistent care and caution. "I don't know what it was, but I went too deep that day, freaked out, of course, had to tell Gaius so he could sew it up for me; my hands were shaking too much to do it myself." He closed his eyes and let out another breath before continuing. "I... told myself then that I needed to stop, but I couldn't—I _couldn't,_ and I know that makes me sound weak, but...

"I knew I needed to stop, Arthur, and I wanted to, but I couldn't—it was just... _so hard._ So I made myself a promise, instead. I told myself that when magic was allowed back in the kingdom, when you were finally able to see me for who I am... I told myself I'd stop then. And I did." He nodded to himself, looked at Arthur for the first time in so many minutes. "I did."

Arthur looked back at him, at a loss for words, unable to respond. He could react to a plethora of situations, could negotiate peace, strategize with the best of them, but when the man he was in love with admitted to taking a blade to his own skin, to harming himself in such ways... he didn't know how to react.

"You're angry. I shouldn't have said anything." Merlin sighed, quickly flinching away from Arthur against whatever was going through his mind in that moment.

"I'm not _angry_," Arthur assured him. "I just... I don't know how to respond. But I'm not angry with you. Just... are you... I mean, you're not doing it anymore, are you?" He asked gently, carefully.

"No."

"It's been... a year since you were made court sorcerer, is that how long since—"

"No. The intention," Merlin sighed again. "Was to _just stop_ when you found out about my magic and accepted me for it, but it's really not as easy as I thought it would be. I've had moments since then, moments where I slip and do it again. It's... so hard sometimes to not do it anymore, but a promise is a promise, and I'm trying. _I'm trying._ It's just... It's just one day at a time, Arthur."

"What can I do to help you?" Arthur asked then, pleading, desperate for a way to fix this, to save Merlin from himself, from _everything._

"You already are." Merlin smiled at him, something small and secret hidden on his lips, in the flicker of his eyes. "Just... just by understanding, just by being you, you're already helping. You... just need to be you, Arthur, I just need you to be you and be there."

Arthur nodded, trying to understand, but... he didn't—not really. He didn't like not being able to actively _help_. Just _being there_ seemed so passive, like it wasn't doing anything, like it was giving up, letting other forces decide things for him. And that just didn't seem to be enough, not when it came to Merlin.

"I—"

"I know." Merlin interrupted softly, because Merlin could always seem to know what was going on in Arthur's mind. "I know."

"_I'm_ supposed to be comforting _you_ here, you know, not the other way around." Arthur clucked his tongue.

"Oh that was you comforting me, then?" Merlin asked, feigning surprise. "Because have I got something to _tell you..."_

"Shut up." Arthur rolled his eyes, bumped his shoulder into Merlin's playfully.

Merlin chuckled and bumped his shoulder back into Arthur's in response, folded his hands over each other in silence, contemplative almost as he leaned forward on his knees, looking up at Arthur as he gave him a smile he only allowed himself around Merlin.

Some moments passed, then, spent only in silence that left Arthur contemplating things, reflecting. All those years, and he had never noticed—never noticed Merlin's magic, never noticed his feelings, never noticed his pain—never noticed anything at all. He wondered if he had been purposefully ignorant—had he noticed the signs but simply chosen to ignore them?—blinded by love—had he simply never wanted to see any faults in Merlin? Had he simply never wanted to see anything wrong with him that would paint him in a bad light to anyone else?—or something else entirely?

"What..." Arthur started, trying to shake himself out of such thoughts. "Is with all the butterflies?"

"Butterflies?" Merlin asked slowly, leaning back slightly to catch Arthur's wondering gaze. His eyebrows were drawn up in confusion until a look of realization flashed across his face and he ducked his head, but not before Arthur caught sight of the blush that crept up his cheeks. "Butterflies." He nodded to himself. "You noticed, did you?"

"Hard not to," Arthur scoffed. "They're _everywhere_. In the throne room, all over the citadel, the market, the stables, my chambers—they're _everywhere,_ Merlin, and apparently you've something to do with it?"

"Yeah." Merlin nodded slowly, cutting his eyes back to Arthur. "Well, it was... a coping mechanism. Like I said," he began in a rush, not giving Arthur a moment to interrupt him. "It's hard, you know, to just... _stop,_ and I've had moments where I did it again, but there've been other times that I wanted to but I didn't because I need—_wanted_ to stop, and so, well, I needed something to do instead of hurting myself."

"But... where do the butterflies come in?"

"I make them," Merlin shrugged. "Whenever I get the urge to cut myself, I just... usually make a butterfly instead."

"You choose to make something beautiful instead of hurting yourself." Arthur nodded in understanding. But then a cold, dreadful feeling crept up on him, making his stomach sink. "There are so many of them, Merlin." He murmured. "And I saw you make one not too long ago—do you—_right now?" _

"No." Merlin shook his head. "No. I did, but... talking helps. I've never had someone to talk to about it with before—I lied to Gaius that time I needed his help, told him I messed up a spell—and it's... not _nice,_ but... helpful, to be able to just talk about it... and with you, of all people... It's just..." He shrugged, words lost to him.

"You can talk to me any time, Merlin." He said in response without a moment's hesitation. "Any time you need me, I'm—" Whatever rambling mess was about to come out of his mouth, was cut off then, quite pleasantly, by Merlin lunging towards him and attacking his jumbled thoughts, his trembling lips, quivering heart, with his steady, hard, desperate, longing kiss, his lips all that mattered when he cupped the back of Arthur's head and Arthur sighed into him, relaxing against his embrace.

"You know," Arthur sighed when Merlin pulled away, a dreamy smile on his face as he panted slightly. "How about instead of making butterflies, you just do _that_ the next time you—"

"Shut up." Merlin rolled his eyes. The effect, of course, was lost entirely when he leaned down and kissed Arthur again anyway.

Arthur was in no way fooled into thinking that this would be the end of things entirely—the way Merlin talked about things, it was a constant struggle for him and Arthur fully intended to _be there_ for him now that he knew about it—but, for that moment, everything was more than a little okay, even if they _did_ miss the rest of the feast that was being thrown in _Merlin's_ honor. If Merlin kept kissing him like that, Arthur would be more than willing to come up with an excuse for both of them.

*.*.*.*.*

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**I promise I'm not trying to make light of issues such as self-harm in the least with this fic; I started writing this specifically as a way to distract myself so I wouldn't relapse and start cutting again myself.**

**So I feel like I'm supposed to do something like a PSA now—like at the end of TV shows and movies that deal with cutting and suicide and eating disorders and domestic abuse and stuff, where they flash a number and website and tell you to get help if you need it—so consider this me telling you that if you need help—if you _want it_, because nothing really works if you don't _want_ help—there are websites, phone numbers, people you can talk to. You can talk to _me,_ hit me up in a PM here or an ask over on tumblr if you need to, guys. Or check out the Butterfly Project's tumblr page—google that shit if you feel like you need it—or whatever. If you want help, do not hesitate to seek it out. People _do_ care, I promise.**

**As always, your thoughts are appreciated.**

**Always,  
Hisa-Ai**


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